


Vertigo

by skund



Category: Black Books
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2010-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skund/pseuds/skund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Black Books, Bernard/Fran, vertigo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vertigo

Bernard sauntered casually out of the pub, while the world rolled and pitched like a sinking ship around him. Fran stumbled out after him, pissed as a fart. Bernard scoffed, waving a finger casually in reprimand. He hit her in the nose. “Yor... yor phissed, y'know.” He nodded slowly. Fran glared at him from above distinctly green cheeks. Bernard smirked. He managed to wrap his arm around her shoulders on the third try, and the pair staggered to the corner to hail a taxi.

The taxi driver threw them out after Bernard threw up the second time. Luckily, the shop was only a few blocks away. It still took them an hour. They spent the time stumbling along, arguing about the latest neo-Marxist interpretation of Great Expectations at the top of their lungs. At the shopfront Bernard fumbled with the keys, the door sliding away from him in the most uncooperative manner. He held tighter onto Fran, her arm around his back. She rolled her eyes. “Let me do it!” She grabbed for the keys, tumbling them both against the door. It slid open under their weight, never locked in the first place. They landed inside the thresh hold, in a tangle of elbows and knees.

“Damnit! Ma-manny left tha... door. Manny!” Bernard bellowed at the top of his lungs. He could feel Fran's hot weight on top of him, her... soft, womany bits. She reached slender fingers forward, pressed one against his lips, or near enough. “Shhh...”

He turned back to look at her, squinting through his wild tangle of hair. She cupped the sides of his face with her hands, and pulled him in for a kiss. It was uncomfortable and uncontrolled and tasted of cheap wine. And sex. She ends the kiss, and they look at each other for half a second. Then explode in a fury of grasping hands, clashing mouths and grinding hips. Panting and clutching, on the floor. Her hands are fiddling with his belt buckle, pulling down pants and jocks. His cock seems to approve of this change in situation, half hard and rising. She hitches up her skirt, moves her knickers aside and uses one hand to guide him inside her. She's hot and slick, and Bernard's hands instinctively go to her hips, rocking her. She braces long arms against his chest, and he starts to thrust, short and sharp. They're both loud, breathy yells and moans. Her thighs are clamped around his hips as she rides him, head thrown back. He pulls her to him with each thrust, sliding deeper. They don't last long. Bernard's eyes roll back into his head as his thrusts become more frantic, and he comes. Fran hisses at the sudden heat within her, spasming at the feel. They still, breathing heavily. His softening cock slips out of her. The darkness moves in.

Bernard awakens hours later, face pressed into an abridged copy of Finnegan's Wake. The early morning sun hits his eyes through the dusty front windows, and he shudders. The perfume of a cigarette entices him, and he opens his eyes. Fran is sitting in the corner, on the floor, inhaling a drag. Bernard looks down at his state of sticky disarray.

“Oh, Jesus. We're never talkin' aboot this again.”

Fran just looks at him.

“... How many times have we done this?” he mutters.

“Seventeen.” Fran replies.

Bernard runs a hand over his face, palm catching on his early morning stubble.

“This year, at least.” Fran adds, exhaling smoke through her nose.

“Fuck.”


End file.
